


A Study of Magic

by timetravellingscientist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Beauxbatons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetravellingscientist/pseuds/timetravellingscientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being an untrained wizard in the magical community, but when scrivener Nicolas Flamel meets Perenelle Delamere, she teaches him how to control and use his abilities and starts him on a journey of discovering that there's a lot more to magic than you get in a boarding school education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> According to JKR it is canon that Nicolas and Perenelle met at Beauxbatons. According to Michael Scott it is canon that Nicolas has been keeping journals since c.1348. According to my headcanons about magic both of these universes are one and the same. This is gonna be fun.

 

 

> _21 April 1368_  
>  _My Dear Nicolas,_  
>  _Our new life together is presented before us like the blank pages of this book. May we have all the time in the world to fill them both._  
>  _Till death do us part,_  
>  _Your Perenelle_

_________________________________

The brown leather bindings of the three sizable books concentrated the heat of the midday sun and emanated a glow of warmth around the hands of their carrier. They were shifted to the crook of one arm as the other hand removed itself, was stretched out, and placed with a flat palm against the lock of a towering wrought-iron gate. The air just around the lock appeared to quiver, and then there was a click and the gate swung open of its own accord and then closed itself again behind the carrier of the books. The tread of footsteps sounded all the way up the wide cobblestone drive and turned into the crunch of gravel that wound all the way around elaborate gardens of perfectly squared hedges and remarkably well-kept flower beds encircling magnificent flowing fountains whose basins were surely lined with pure gold.

The grand palais whose entrance they heralded was the crown of the Pyrénées, resplendent enough to have made the King himself jealous. But no king or member of any royal bloodline would ever grace the halls of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, for it was a school uniquely for those with the ability to do magic.

The carrier of the books had been here before, but infrequently enough to still marvel at the silver and gold interior of the palace and feel the slightest twinge of regret at not having been able to study there.

 

* * *

The librarian looked up as a man entered the library and made his way towards her, bringing what she expected were the books she had asked to be copied. She had seen him before as the headmaster regularly called upon him to copy books and scrolls for the academy, but this was the first time she had personally requested something for the library. The man was younger than her and subtly handsome, and was sure of his work, which she liked. He presented the books to her with a slight bow. “Here you are, Madame Delamere.”

Her hand lightly grazed his as she took the books from him with gratitude. Where their skin touched a spark of white light appeared between them. They both froze and stared at it, the man resisting the urge to pull his hand away.

“Perenelle,” the librarian spoke as the light faded away. “Please,” she said, “Call me Perenelle.”

He was silent, so she hastily apologized. “I’m sorry to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” he replied quickly. He seemed like he wanted to say something else, hesitated, and then turned to leave instead. But instead of exiting he turned back and decided to speak to her.

“Madame Delamere?” he chanced to ask.

“Yes?” she raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

He couldn’t help but notice how striking her eyes were. The brilliant green stood out against her pale angular face and dense black hair. She cleared her throat and he stammered apologetically before getting to his question. She pretended not to notice. “I was hoping you could demonstrate something in one of these books,” he said, but then immediately regretted it thinking it made him look foolish in front of this incredibly brilliant woman.

“Of course,” she agreed to his surprise, not minding at all. “What can I help you with?”

He remembered a charming bit of transfiguration that turned a feather quill into a flower. He gestured for one of the books back from her and opened immediately to the correct page. He showed it to her and she smiled. “Here, I’ve got a quill,” he said, taking one from his tunic pocket. He presented it to her, expecting a show of wand waving and incantations. Instead, she set it in the open book he was still holding, raised her hand over it, and a thin thread of the same white light appeared from the palm of her hand and reached out to the quill. The light ran delicately along the rachis of the feather, transforming it into a neat spike of mint flowers. He stared at it, transfixed, until her voice brought him back.

“I’m quite fond of the smell of mints,” she said. He looked up at her and saw that she was watching him with an amused smile. “Would you like to try?” she asked him.

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know how to begin.”

“I can teach you,” she said.

He looked up, momentarily excited. Then his face fell again. “But I don’t even have a wand.”

She looked amused again. “I know you were watching me. Was I using a wand?”

“Okay,” he said. “If you’re sure. I would like that very much.”

She smiled. He decided he had already come to like her smile very much. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? First thing?”

He nodded in agreement. “Thank you.”

She closed the flower in the book and gestured for him to keep it. “Hold on to it to study.” She walked him towards the door. “Wait, one more thing…. What should I call you?”

“Flamel,” he said. “Nicolas Flamel.”

She smiled as he turned to leave. “You have great potential, Nicolas Flamel.”


End file.
